


No Evil: (I hoped I never saw to see)

by amanderjean



Series: No Evil [1]
Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 13:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6155333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amanderjean/pseuds/amanderjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A relationship from the outside. Jessie doesn't see, until she does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Evil: (I hoped I never saw to see)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on imagined renderings of real people, and is not meant to imply any actual knowledge of the beliefs, behaviors, or values of any of the characters mentioned.

Jessie looks, but she tries not to see.

When long days of filming turn into long nights of emails and phone calls and bookkeeping, she looks for her husband in the window. She looks at him as he walks into their bedroom, stifling his footsteps in the dark to avoid waking her. She looks as he slips off his clothes for what she hopes (she doesn’t hope, she doesn’t dare to imagine otherwise; she looks away) is the first time that night. She doesn’t see the flush, the rapid pulse, the nervous energy as he climbs into their bed. She doesn’t see.

When a car horn beeps every morning outside their home (she wishes he would just call or text or even come to the door, she hates the announcement, the spectacle he makes every time he arrives, in his car like a steed to drive off in) she looks for her husband’s hand to grasp, his lips to delicately kiss good-bye, his cheek to place her hand against before he rushes out the door. She doesn’t see how his eyes never leave the window, never meet hers as he quips, “Love you, have a good day.” She doesn’t see.

When she looks at his smile on the screen, his laughter, his talent and his obvious joy at his hard-earned occupation, she swells with pride and happiness and satisfaction. She doesn’t see the eyes that linger, the touch of hand and arm and knee when there is more than plenty of space at that desk (when did they close that gap, she almost thinks, and then doesn’t). She looks, and looks away.

When the doorbell rings, and there Link is, all cock-sure and half-smiling, she looks at a man she’s known nearly half her life, whom she loves and admires, whom she knows was there first, and she doesn’t see. The flush, the rapid pulse, the nervous energy as he drawls, “Well, hello, darling, I’m here to steal your husband away.” A pause. “Just for today.” She breathes out quickly, a ghost of laughter, and looks away.

When Rhett, almost running down the hall, kisses her cheek and thanks her for allowing this respite, this time away again, time to sun and surf and lay about, half-clothed, on sand and towels and the backseat of a car -

She looks. And for one moment, she sees.

Rhett puts his surfboard onto the roof of the car and he is there, his hands and arms are there, around her husband, for just an instant. His mouth is on her husband’s neck, for just one moment, a trick of the eyes through the screen door. His hands are grazing places she alone had charted (or so she thought, foolish girl), and the light in her husband’s eyes dims the California sun to ashen haze.

But before her heart can break, and the dry timber of her whole life turns to dust, she looks away. She doesn’t see. She closes her eyes, and breathes deeply (one, two, three, four, five … ) and when she opens them again, the car is driving down the street, the side mirror reflecting her husband’s bright smile as he goes off to spend a day with his oldest friend.


End file.
